


Beginning of the End

by remy (iamremy)



Series: 12 days of wincestmas - 2020 [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Curtain Fic, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester in Love, Desperate Sam Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Sam makes a deal, Soulmates Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Topping from the Bottom, sam keeps adopting strays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22243840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy
Summary: One last close call, and Sam and Dean have had enough. It's time to call it a day.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: 12 days of wincestmas - 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601026
Comments: 17
Kudos: 142





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sintari (OriginalSintari)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalSintari/gifts).



> this one was for days 11 and 12, and will be, as usual, contained in one fic for simplicity. enjoy!!!

“Last chance,” Billie says, looking down at Sam as he kneels in the dirt, a frighteningly still Dean cradled in his arms. “After this, no more deals. No more summons. The next time I see either one of you, I reap you. Oh, and one more thing,” she adds.

“What?” asks Sam desperately. “I’ll do anything, _anything_ , just tell me–”

“Let me finish, Sam,” Billie says, not unkindly. “I know you and your brother. The moment you use a spell, the moment you get an angel or your nephilim to heal you – deal’s over. I reap you instantly. You want to live? You do it like every other person on this planet. No shortcuts. No loopholes. Are we agreed?”

“Yes,” Sam says at once. He doesn’t even need to think. He _can’t_ , not when Dean is in his arms, cold and lifeless. “Yes, Billie, it’s a deal, just - just bring him back, _please_ –”

She kneels down next to him, and puts two fingers to Dean’s forehead. Inadvertently Sam’s grip on him tightens, as if he can somehow share his lifeforce with Dean if only he held him tight enough. Billie notices, going by the faint smile on her ageless face, but does not comment.

She gets back to her feet, dusting her coat off. A second later, Dean gasps and then coughs, jerking back to life in Sam’s arms. Immediately Sam moves, unwrapping his arms from around Dean so he can frame Dean’s face with his hands. “Dean?” he says, voice wet with desperation.

“What the hell happened?” Dean rasps out, pressing a hand to the bloody patch over his belly. “Sammy – did I _die_?”

Sam bites his lips, and then nods. “Yeah,” he whispers, and then his voice cracks.

“What did you do?” Dean asks at once. “Sammy, what did you _do_ –”

“I called Billie,” Sam replies, looking up – but she’s gone. 

“Billie?” Dean repeats. His hand is still pressed to the spot where the fatal gunshot wound had been just a minute ago. “Swear to God, Sammy, if you did something stupid–”

“I–”

Dean, it seems, is not in the mood to let Sam finish. “Did you make a deal, Sam?”

Sam nods wordlessly, biting his lip again.

Dean slumps, hands going to hold his head up. “God, Sammy,” he says, voice muffled behind his hands. He sounds broken down. “What is it?”

“I didn’t sign my soul over or anything,” Sam tells him, cautiously reaching out a hand to put it on Dean’s knee. “Her deal was that she’d bring you back, but it would be the last time. And - and we’re not supposed to summon her ever again, or use a spell to heal ourselves, or even let an angel or Jack do it. If we do, she’ll reap us on the spot.”

“That’s it?” Dean asks after a moment, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “She doesn’t want anything else?”

Sam shakes his head. The movement makes his hair come loose from behind his ear and fall in front of his eyes. “No. She just said that if we live, we do it like every other person on the planet. That’s it.”

“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean says with a frown. “Seems too damn easy. Too good to be true.”

“It's _Billie_ ,” Sam points out. “She’s as transparent as they come, Dean, she’s never lied to us or tried to deceive us. For lack of a better word, I’d say I trust her to hold up her end of the deal.”

“Yeah, but–” Dean begins.

“I don’t care,” Sam interrupts fiercely. His voice is shaking, and he doesn’t give a shit, not when Dean's _alive_ , and Sam’s own heart is slowly coming back to life, too. “I don’t care, Dean, God, you _died_ –” He stops short. There aren’t words. No matter how many times this happens, there are never going to be words.

And Dean gets it, anyway. Words aren’t necessary to begin with.

“Sammy,” Dean says, and this time he sounds tender. Sam looks up, shaking his head slightly to get his hair out of his face, and finds Dean giving him a small but genuine smile. He looks indescribably fond. “C'mere,” he says, beckoning, and it’s like Sam has only been waiting for the chance; he all but throws himself at Dean, only dimly aware of how cold the ground is or that it’s started to rain. 

Dean’s arms are around him instantly, one hand coming up to brush Sam’s hair behind his ear, and his lips are on Sam’s temple as he whispers, “It’s okay, man. It’s okay.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Sam asks. His voice is now trembling so much it’s a miracle Dean can understand him. His entire body is shaking, in fact, and it feels like Dean’s arms around him are the only thing keeping him from falling apart. “How was I supposed to live without you? I can’t, Dean, I _can’t_ –”

“Sammy, hey, it’s okay,” Dean repeats, soothing, as he cradles the back of Sam’s head. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

Sam takes in a deep, shuddering breath, and decides to believe Dean. “Yeah,” he whispers into Dean’s shoulder. “Yeah, Dean.”

* * *

“It’s not a bad deal, all things considered,” Dean says when they’re in the car, the town miles away in the rearview mirror. They didn’t stop for anything more than a quick shower, and now they’re back on the road, driving in the direction of the bunker and keeping an eye out for any place to get food from on the way.

“I honestly didn’t care at the time,” Sam tells him. “I know I should’ve, but–”

“Hey, man, I get it,” Dean interrupts. “Not saying it’s a good idea, but I get it. God knows I’ve done it several times myself. Which I guess gives me the experience needed to say – it’s not a bad deal. No souls involved, we don’t have any favor hanging over our heads, and we don’t owe her. That’s actually pretty good.”

“Yeah,” Sam says after a moment. “Gonna have to be more careful, though. We can’t afford any more close calls now.”

There is a silence as Dean appears to digest this. Sam keeps watching him, marveling at the rise and fall of his chest, at the familiar way he holds himself in the driver’s seat, eyes flicking to the rearview every now and then.

He doesn’t say it, but if Billie had asked more of him, demanded his soul and his heart and everything else in him – he’d have given it. Without question. Without a second’s delay, he’d have given it, and it would have been a small price to pay for Dean’s life.

“Look, food,” Dean says, cutting into Sam’s train of thought. Sam blinks and looks up through the rain-spattered windshield to see a neon sign up ahead.

“Oh, good, I’m starving,” Sam says, and it’s true; he is. He just had been too preoccupied with Dean’s death and Billie’s deal to realize it.

It’s late, and there is only one other car in the parking lot when Dean pulls up. They rush indoors, trying to avoid the rain as much as possible, and seat themselves at the table by the window, all exits in clear view. Dean orders a hamburger with curly fries on the side and an extra-large milkshake; Sam orders a chicken salad and, when their meals arrive, steals Dean’s fries off his plate every now and then.

“Why didn’t you just get your own?” Dean asks, fingers closing around Sam’s wrist before Sam can take his fries for the fifth time.

“‘Cause it’s more fun taking yours,” Sam tells him, trying to tug his wrist out of Dean’s vice grip.

“They ain’t free,” Dean tells him, not giving in to Sam’s efforts at all. He appears irritatingly unfazed, in fact, like Sam’s got no more strength than an enthusiastic toddler.

“What do you want?” Sam asks, momentarily halting his struggle.

Dean grins at him across the table and then half-rises, leaning in to give Sam a quick peck on the mouth before sitting back down. “That’s it,” he says, releasing Sam’s hand.

Sam’s too surprised to reach for the fries again. “What was that for?” he asks, lips tingling pleasantly where Dean’s mouth had just been.

“Can’t kiss my man just ‘cause I feel like it?” Dean asks rhetorically, still grinning, and then adds, “It’s nothin’, man. Just – thanks, I guess.”

“For _what_?” Sam asks after a stunned pause. “What I did – I’d do it again. A thousand times if I have to.”

He’s expecting Dean to argue, but his brother just smiles at him again and says, “I know.”

Sam stares at Dean for a few seconds, and then decides not to overthink it. Instead, he treats himself to a few more of Dean’s fries, and returns Dean’s sappy fond smile, and feels wrapped in warmth in a way that has nothing to do with the space heaters set up in the diner.

They’re down to sharing Dean’s milkshake when Dean says, “You know what, Sammy?”

“What?” Sam asks.

“We should retire,” Dean says. He doesn’t say it like he’s asking a question, or like he’s only considering the idea; he says it firmly, sure of himself, like he’s already thought it out.

“Retire?” Sam repeats. “You mean that?”

Dean nods. “About time, ain’t it?” he asks. “There are no more impending apocalypses or any overpowered, egoistic entities to worry about, Sammy. And hell, for the rest of it, there’s plenty of others hunters to do the job, man. We’ve done more than our fair share, I’d say it’s time we call it. What do you think?”

“I…” Sam trails off. “I think it’s a great idea,” he says a moment later, and then smiles widely at Dean. “Retirement… you really mean it, Dean?”

Dean reaches across the table to take Sam’s hand. “Yeah, baby, I do. About fuckin’ time. The more I think about it, the more I realize Billie’s right. We gotta do it like everyone else now. Get old and fat and all that. And ain’t no one else I’d rather do it with than you.”

Sam laces his fingers through Dean’s and squeezes, his smile brightening even more. “That sounds perfect to me,” he says quietly, and his soul lights up when Dean smiles back.

* * *

They go to bed in Dean’s room right after they arrive home, even though it’s past sunrise by now. There, they undress each other slowly, and Dean colors Sam’s skin in hickeys, and Sam runs his hand all over Dean’s body and counts his pulse, their breaths falling in sync. And then Dean takes Sam to bed, opens him up with sure fingers, soft words and gentle kisses, and presses into him like they’ve got all the time in the world. And Sam wraps his limbs around Dean, enveloping him, and cradles the back of his head as Dean makes love to him, unhurried, content, both of them lost in a haze of pleasure, aware only of each other. Dean kisses Sam as he comes, Sam’s shout lost to Dean’s mouth, and then he kisses Sam’s cheekbone, and his jaw, and his collarbone, and whispers his name into his skin when he, too, climaxes.

Afterwards they lie in a sweaty tangle of limbs, the sheets coming up to their waists, and Sam puts his head on Dean’s chest so he can keep listening to Dean’s heartbeat, the constant reminder of the life in him. His body is sore, from the hunt and from the drive and from the sex, but his chest feels light and airy, and his skin feels electric at every point where Dean’s touching it. He thinks he never wants to leave this bed again, that he wouldn’t mind just staying here forever, tangled up in Dean’s warmth. It comes as a pleasant jolt when he realizes that he doesn’t have to; they’re retired now. They can do this for as long as they want. Hours on end. Days. Forever.

Sam raises his head, smiles at Dean, and kisses him before lying back down. “Happy first day of retirement, Dean.”

Dean chuckles, running his fingers through Sam’s hair, brushing it behind his ear as he whispers, “Happy first day of retirement to you too, Sammy.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this chapter contains explicit content.

Dean is putting the finishing touches on the chicken he’s just taken out of the oven when he hears the characteristic rumble of the Impala’s engine. Good, Sam’s home. and hopefully he remembered the pie and the beer. The rest of the grocery Dean can go without — who needs that much milk anyway? — but pie and beer are absolutely crucial.

He hears the bunker door clang shut, and a moment later Sam calls out, “Dean?”

“In here!” Dean yells back, sprinkling the last of the garnish on the chicken.

Two seconds later Sam appears in the entrance to the kitchen, hair messy and cheeks pink from the wind outside. He’s got two brown bags balanced in one arm and a plastic-covered platter of pie in the other, and Dean immediately makes grabby hands at it. “Gimme!”

Sam hands it to him, rolling his eyes, and Dean sets it down on the counter before taking the rest of the bags from Sam. Sam clears his throat expectantly, tilting his head, and it takes Dean a second to remember what he’s supposed to do. “Right, yeah,” he mumbles, and then kisses Sam’s cheek.

Sam beams, satisfied, and then says, “Chicken looks great.”

“It better, the seasoning was a pain in the ass,” Dean says as he puts the grocery away. “How about you go get rid of your coat and then we can start, huh?”

“Um,” says Sam, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’m good, man, I’m starving. Let’s start now.”

Dean frowns. “You sure, man?”

Sam nods so quickly his hair flies. “Yeah, yeah I’m sure,” he rambles. “Chicken looks amazing, man, why wait? Let’s have it right now.”

Dean narrows his eyes at his brother. “Yeah?” he says. “I don’t know, man, I’m smellin’ a rat. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Sam says at once.

“I don’t believe you,” Dean tells him squarely.

And then Sam’s coat meows.

There is silence for a few moments, during which Sam’s face goes from “I am innocent please believe me” to “Oh no I see you getting suspicious” and finally settles on “okay okay fine I might be a little guilty.” Dean narrows his eyes further and crosses his arms, waiting Sam out. Sam bites his lip, eyes impossibly wide and soft, and Dean feels himself beginning to go weak at the knees.

_Don’t_ , he tells himself. _He wants you to give in. Resist, dammit!_

But fuck, not even the most monstrous creature on the planet could resist Sam when he looks this fucking sweet and innocent, and Dean is only _human_.

He’s just about to give in when Sam’s coat meows again, and that, for some reason, makes Sam cave first. “Okay, okay, fine!” he says, and pulls out an honest-to-God kitten from his coat pocket. It’s so impossibly tiny that Sam’s hands cover it completely, almost as if he’s afraid Dean’s gaze will vaporize it.

“Sam?” Dean says, deadpan. “Were you seriously trying to smuggle a whole-ass kitten past me?”

“I couldn’t not rescue him, okay, he’s so small!” Sam says defensively, cradling the kitten to his chest. “It’s so cold outside and he was all alone and I didn’t see his mom anywhere and I felt bad, okay!”

“Sammy,” sighs Dean. “You brought home three dogs last month. The month before that it was a fucking rooster. And now a cat? You wanna make our home a zoo? Is that what this is?”

“He’s so tiny, Dean,” Sam says earnestly. “He won’t survive on his own. I couldn’t just leave him.”

The puppy eyes have been upped to 11. Dean hadn’t even thought that possible. The last time Sam had looked like this he’d been literally five and begging for ice cream. Dean’s knees are weak again, dammit, even though he’d told himself a rooster and a puppy ago that he was going to be stronger the next time.

“Please?” Sam says, and has the audacity to stick his bottom lip out a little. “I promise he won’t bother you, Dean. You won’t even know he’s there.”

“That’s what you said when you got Alan,” Dean reminds him, referring to the rooster. “Now he wakes me up every morning by screaming. It’s also what you said when you got Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I didn’t say a thing when you gave them all geek names, and now there ain’t a single slipper unchewed in this house.”

“Well, Bruce won’t scream or chew your slippers, I swear!” Sam says.

“Bruce?” Ahh, fuck it, Dean is disgustingly _weak_. “You named him after _Batman_?”

Sam nods. “Yeah. Wanna see?” He holds his hands out, letting Dean look.

The last of Dean’s resolve crumbles at the sight of the kitten, so damn small and — fuck it, _adorable_. He is so dark that he looks like a little piece of the void, resting in Sam’s hands, tiny body rising and falling with each breath. His eyes are bright green, and despite himself, Dean finds himself falling in love.

“Can we keep him?” Sam asks softly.

Bruce looks up and lets out the tiniest of yawns before stretching and settling again in the palm of Sam’s hand. Dean notices the look on Sam’s face as he watches the kitten, and sighs inwardly. No way he can refuse something that makes Sam look like _that_ , so genuinely carefree and happy.

“Yeah,” he says in the end. “We can keep him. But no more strays,” he adds.

“Promise,” Sam says at once, and then beams at Dean. “Thank you, thank you so much!” Covering Bruce with his other hand, he leans in and puts a messy kiss on the corner of Dean’s mouth.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Dean, already knowing that this isn’t the last stray, not by a long shot. Damn Sammy and his soft spot for all lost and helpless things. “That cat better behave, or it’s your ass on the line. Come on now, let’s eat before it’s cold.”

* * *

Dean’s lying in bed reading when Sam enters. Without looking up he asks, “Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Sam answers softly. “Alan and the dogs love Bruce.”

“Good,” says Dean distractedly, still mostly focused on the article he’s reading about Chevelles. “You gonna come to bed now?”

Instead of responding, Sam plucks the iPad out of Dean’s hands, locks it, and puts it aside. That succeeds in getting Dean’s attention. He looks up, and immediately his mouth goes dry.

Sam is naked, hair damp and curling around his face, and he’s got that soft, needy sort of look in his eyes that Dean can never resist. Without waiting for Dean to respond, he climbs up on Dean’s lap, straddling his thighs, and hooks his fingers in the waistband of Dean’s pajama pants.

“Can I?” he asks, before going any further.

Dean swallows, and nods.

Sam smiles down at him, and pulls down his pajama pants. Dean raises his hips a little to help Sam. His cock is already half-hard, his body responding to Sam’s weight on him.

Sam leans in and kisses Dean, hands already working on stroking Dean to full hardness. “Thank you,” he whispers between kisses. “You never say no to me. For anything.”

“Can’t,” Dean confesses, placing his hands on Sam’s waist and stroking his thumbs up and down Sam’s hipbones. “Never could say no to you, baby.”

Sam smiles, small and intimate, and kisses the bridge of Dean’s nose. “I appreciate it, you know,” he tells Dean. “I always do.”

“I know,” Dean tells him with a crooked grin. “That’s why I’m getting laid right now.”

Sam laughs at that. “No, that’s not why,” he tells Dean, and then puts his hands on the headboard, bracing himself as he raises his hips off Dean’s lap.

“Wait, don’t you need prep?” Dean asks, hands still on Sam’s waist as he positions himself.

Sam shakes his head. “Did it already,” he tells Dean, and then sinks down, taking all of Dean in one go. Dean moans at that, head falling back against the headboard. “Wanted to be ready for you,” Sam says, and wriggles a little.

“Too damn good to me, you know that?” Dean groans, tilting his head forward to kiss Sam’s collarbone. “Always know what I want, what I need. I never haveta say a damn word.”

Sam rolls his hips, earning a bitten-off groan from Dean. He’s tight, always is, just the way they both like it, and no matter how many times they do this, to Dean it never stops feeling like he’s coming home. He trails his hands upwards from Sam’s waist, caressing his sides, and brushes two fingers lightly over one nipple. Sam sighs at that, his entire body flushing. All these years and it never ceases to amaze Dean how sensitive Sam still is to his touch.

“Dean,” Sam says, sounding a little breathless. He hasn’t stopped moving since he sat down on Dean’s cock — rolling his hips, bouncing a little, arms bracketed on either side of Dean’s head. His cock rubs against Dean’s shirt, leaving a damp trail of precome that Dean just can’t bring himself to care about.

“Yeah, Sammy,” he says, grabbing Sam’s waist again and holding it so he can thrust up and meet Sam halfway. “Yeah, baby.”

Sam presses his lips together as he bows his head, hair falling into his face. He bites out a moan when Dean thrusts up into him again, and that’s how Dean knows he’s hit Sam’s sweet spot.

“Again?” he asks.

Sam nods. “Please,” he says, so close to begging already. “Please, Dean.”

Dean kisses him, long and slow and absolutely filthy, pressing his tongue into Sam’s mouth and taking control. Sam lets him, his hands falling to Dean’s shoulders, and Dean lightly flicks one of Sam’s nipples, grinning when Sam moans into the kiss.

He could gladly do this all night, he thinks dazedly. Just sit here and tease Sam, coax these lovely reactions and those gorgeous moans from him, inch him to the edge until he’s sobbing Dean’s name and begging to come. They’ve done it before, on lazy days and lazier nights, no hurry and no rush, no obligation to the world outside or even any awareness of it. These moments always make Dean feel like the two of them are the only people in the world, and no one else matters.

No one else could _ever_ matter, he thinks, compared to Sam, his beautiful, sweet Sammy. For the rest of their lives, for all the rest of eternity.

He steadies Sam with a hand on his hip and then thrusts up hard into him, taking control of their movement. Sam lets him, giving himself over completely, and Dean tangles his free hand into Sam’s hair, pulling a little as he fucks into Sam. His little brother loves it, head thrown back as he moans, loud and uninhibited, and the sound goes straight to Dean’s cock.

“God, Sammy,” he breathes out. “So beautiful like this, you know that? So damn pretty.”

Sam doesn’t look capable of replying with words. His hands tighten in the fabric of Dean’s shirt at his shoulders, and his legs are shaking, thighs quivering around Dean’s waist, and Dean knows he’s close.

“It’s okay, darlin’,” he tells Sam, kissing the side of his neck. “Come.”

“I’ll ruin your shirt,” Sam gasps out. His eyes are closed and he seems lost in pleasure, cheeks flushed and nipples hard, lips bright red and parted.

“Mm, don’t care,” Dean tells him, fucking him hard and fast and taking care to hit the spot that he knows will make Sam come apart. “Come, Sam.”

And Sam does, spurting hot and sticky in the space between them, making a mess of Dean’s shirt as he predicted. His whole body seems to contract, tightening further around Dean, and that’s more than enough for him — one thrust, two, then three and he comes too. Sam whimpers at the sensation of Dean’s come inside him, Dean’s hand still in his hair, and then goes boneless, collapsing on top of Dean.

“Hey,” Dean chuckles, wrapping his arms around Sam and kissing the side of his head. “Get up, Sasquatch, you’re heavy.”

Sam mumbles something inaudible but he rises, sliding off Dean’s softening cock and off to the side. Dean takes his shirt off, using it to clean up Sam’s belly, thighs and ass, and then throws it to the ground. “C’mere,” he tells Sam as he slides down the bed so he’s lying down, and wraps an arm around Sam from behind, pulling him into his chest.

Sam lets himself be wrapped in Dean’s embrace, his fingers tangling with Dean’s on his belly. His body is loose, relaxed, his head heavy, and Dean knows he’s half-asleep already. That’s one thing that has never changed in all these years — there’s no better sleep aid for Sam than some good old-fashioned fucking.

There’s one thing Dean wants to know, though. “Hey,” he says.

“Mm?”

“You said this wasn’t just to say thanks,” Dean reminds him. “What was it for?”

“‘S our anniversary,” Sam tells him sleepily.

Dean frowns. “No, that’s not today.”

“No, not _us_ ,” Sam clarifies, wriggling backwards until there’s no space between his back and Dean’s chest. “Retirement. Been a year.”

“Oh.” Dean blinks. He had no idea it’d been that long already. “Man, time really flies, huh?”

“Mm-hmm,” Sam hums in agreement. “Let’s hope we get many more.”

“Yeah,” says Dean, and tightens his hold on Sam. He doesn’t say it out loud, but even if Billie were to come for them tomorrow — or, hell, right this instant — he’d die a happy man. He’s lived his life, he’s done his part, and now he’s got nothing to do but live. And maybe this isn’t the conventional apple pie life he wanted, but it’s _real_ , and he gets to spend it with the love of his life, his damn _soulmate_ — and that’s better than anything he could ever have asked for.

* * *

And he doesn’t reconsider it even when Sam brings home a fucking _parakeet_ two months later, though he’s sorely tempted to. Still, he figures, watching in resignation as Sam tries to train Joshua the parakeet to say “Cristo” — it’s still perfect. His life, despite the alarming amount of animals in it now, is _perfect_.

And then Sam catches him looking, and smiles, wide and so beautiful and bright and _radiant_ , and Dean thinks, _fuck it_. There’s not a damn thing he would change about any of it. There’s not a damn thing that _needs_ changing.

They’ve got all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> this year's wincestmas was my second time participating, and i had SO MUCH FUN. my giftee is the lovely sintari, also known as crooked-sleep on tumblr, and coincidentally our tastes match PERFECTLY. as a result, writing for her was such a pleasure <333
> 
> please comment and let me know if you enjoyed the story :)
> 
> love,  
> remy


End file.
